


Sweat It Out

by FreshBrains



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Banter, Community: pbam, Established Relationship, F/M, POV Jessica Jones, Porn Battle, Riding, Rough Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10043909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshBrains/pseuds/FreshBrains
Summary: Punching people might be fun, but there’s something to be said about sex as a form of catharsis.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the Porn Battle Prompt Stack 2 prompt: notch.

Punching people might be fun, but there’s something to be said about sex as a form of catharsis.

It sounds vaguely like something Malcolm would tell her, or maybe Trish after some sex therapist made a guest spot on her show. But catharsis is definitely the right word for the feeling she’s getting from holding Luke Cage down on the bed and riding him into another freaking dimension. Catharsis, and _exhaustion_.

“You’re coming in a little hot up there, champ,” Luke says from below her, voice coming out in breathless huffs every time Jessica sinks back down on his cock. “You alright?”

“Never better,” Jessica says. She leans down to press Luke’s wrists harder into the mattress, her breasts pushing into his face. Or, at least the one that fell out of her bra cup. Luke eagerly takes what he can get, biting at the soft skin around her nipple, his mouth hot and sure even when he gives up control. “Holding up?”

“Never better,” Luke teases, grinning against her skin. He rolls his hips up against her and she groans, grinding down into his lap. His thumb comes up to tease at her clit, give her a buzz of pleasure that travels up her spine.

Jessica knows she’s not exactly a prize to be won these days. Jeri’s thrown her a difficult case that Matt is refusing to help with on “moral” grounds ( _please_ ), Trish is in Miami for a week promoting her book, and everything is dead end after dead end. She’s worn out and stressed and crabby. And she knows that she looks like a woman possessed thrashing around on top of Luke, hair wild and face red, seeking that perfect spot _right there_ —

“I got you, baby,” Luke says, voice low and rumbling, almost _protective_. Then he’s clasping his big hands around her hips and rolling her into her back, her own wrists suddenly pressed against the sheets.

“Dirty move,” she groans, wrapping her legs around his waist. She allows her mind to go blissfully blank as she wraps her legs around his waist, arches up into him, and just _takes_ , letting him set the pace, his face buried in the crook of her neck. _This can happen to me again_ , she thinks. It hits her like a Mack truck. _I can do this again, and I’m_ here _, we’re both here_. She comes with a strangled yell, nails clawing nonexistent scratches down Luke’s back, cunt clenching hot around him until she’s sore and overstimulated.

By the time Luke comes, Jessica is ready for a nap and a cheeseburger, and says so before he can even catch his breath.

“Put on some pants and I’ll take you to Wendy’s,” he says, leaning back on the headboard, watching Jessica shrug back into her tank top. “Maybe even a Frosty if you’re extra sweet.”

She shoots him a dirty look and slaps his leg, shooing him off the file folder they forgot to shove off the bed. “ _You’re_ on food duty. I’ve got work to do.”

“I see how it is,” Luke says, biting back one of those smug smiles that makes Jessica want to kiss and smack him in equal measure. “I’m just another notch on your bedpost, Jessica Jones.”

Jessica rolls her eyes so hard that Trish probably feels it in Florida. “Have your pity party in the drive-thru, Cage. And wear a shirt this time.”

She can hear him laugh all the way out the door, and as she settles back into her desk with an ache between her thighs and bear-burn cooling on her neck, she realizes she’s never felt so freaking relaxed. “Catharsis,” she says to herself, leaning back in her chair with her feet on the desk. “Yeah, that’s definitely a Malcolm word.”


End file.
